Tuesday, November 27, 2012

the shadow whisperer

i detest the light
and the dark
and their silent
teasing illicit 
the shadow

which gets so close to you
that it can lay its bare hands on you
choose to show some of you
and hide the rest of you

like a white devil
it stands behind you
looking over your shoulder
looking at me

i am on her
it says
i do with her
as i please

the inside of her thighs
and the underside of her breasts 
i kiss

she lies in with me
irrespective of which side
her face or hips
i am there

as i please 
i do

look at me
it says
look into my hollow eyes
and tell me you don't
really wish it was

i detest 
i detest 
from the bottom of my 
emotion infested gut

turned inside out
upside down
i know i should look away
but look on
i must

Friday, November 23, 2012


i want to cut the moon
into fine thin lines
of the winter's first snow
and take a hit

the dark black sky
my blotting paper 
dipped in yellow sunshine
a perfect balance of the 
yin and the yang

i need to keep it 
on the tip of my tongue 
and roll my tongue
into my mouth
like how the wave 
rolls up 
and vanishes
into the sea

one rush
after the other

summon the blue devils
and the wonder star
the white dove
sailing across
the sky
look how she flies

i want to dance with the devil
dance till the blue is black
and the white is red
and eat the star
and pet the dove
as she sits on my arm

crush the star
grind it fine
and cover myself in your angel dust
leaving a trail of smoke
emitting from 
flesh made divine

and all that

i need to do 

all that

just so that it resembles 
the hot shiver 
that runs down my spine 
as my mouth and lips and tongue 
meet my beloved's

Thursday, November 22, 2012


why does stepping out 
on a sunny day
feel like walking under drops of plastic rain 
and the air like sheets of glass
and water running through me
like with its jagged shards

why do i think of you
why do i think
that coming to you
would take that all away
make it all okay

why does
your blanket
feel like home
and the one on my bed
in my room
holds no warmth

why does the soft dim yellow light
in which your room basks
make the light that i hear
as i sit in what was my corner
seem like a thousand
angry agitated
shouting at me

why do i think of you
when they do

why do i think
that if you'd put your arm
around my chest
or let me put mine
around your waist
just by doing that
you could make this cacophony
petter down

Monday, November 19, 2012


a shirt
a dark white shirt
with a breast pocket
and a pen

not just any pen
a fountain pen
given as a gift
on my 1st death anniversary

it was black
shiny like ceramic

and the tip
the tip was silver
the tip of the cap
and the tip
at the bottom

it caught light beautifully
and threw out words

its fuel
was ink
regardless of the colour

on ink it fed
and satisfied my hunger
by the words it threw out

my breast pocket
and the pen
its best friend
always together
did fantasy trips together
chased dreams
lost causes
sulked and moaned
and roared

one day
one dull
saturday afternoon

both of them
high on life
decided to give it up
decided to give it all up

are you done
the pocket
asked the pen
i think so
replied the pen

asked the pen
me too
said the pocket

but can we please
do it together
hand in hand

wouldn't imagine
it any other way
one of them asked
both replied

so then
the pen
nestled in the pocket
and bled
silently bled dry

the pocket
which was the colour
of a dark white
was the colour 
of the pen's insides

absorbing all the pen 
had to give
giving itself up
as it did

and then it was all quiet

and i saw them
from a distance
on a bright dull
saturday afternoon

a sad smile
the within me

and me

played out 
by a pen and a pocket

when would it be my turn
i thought

within replied
with a hand on my heart
in a while
my friend
in a short while

Sunday, November 11, 2012

isle of timelessness

you take me 
and place me
in  a world
rendered timeless
with your words

this world
is one
which does not come
with the feeling of a start
or one coming to an end
this world, is

it is
hanging in soft suspension
moving swaying

to the music of jazz
the milky way

the rhythms and blues
the moon

and 70's rock
the sun

this world is
it exists


as a figment
of our collective
and animalism


as tangible as
the physicality of thought

and the unreal
a very  

this world
the one you place me in

in its own mind
and body
and yours and mine

and in ours

this place
is not one
with a start
or one coming to an end

this world
this place
its inhabitants

floating spirits
sometimes, soothing
needfully close
comfortably afar

this world
you are

we are

what else is there
what else is there

a shared timelessness
encapsulated into

in a world
which has no
or an end

it just is
its swaying is
its soft suspension is
its invisibility
and its presence is

it is
the time
the ticking of watch hands
and the grains of sand
in a sand clock

it is the space 
in an empty glass
and a soaked within

it is a world
by itself

a world
existence, of which
was willed 
by itself

we breathe
and we will
and we want
and we want forever

this forever is 
the measure of time
in this world

the one that you place me in
with your words

Saturday, November 10, 2012

selective knowing

i know, sometimes, why this needs to be done
sometimes, i think i know,
why you need to go

the sun, 
isn't it?

it is because of the sun

during the day,
when you're gone
you are there,
you are behind the sun

aren't you?

the brightness
the light
the blinding serene yellow bright light
the one coming from the sun
comes from 
what's behind the sun,

i know now, why you need to go 
i do

and then some nights
when the sheets are cold
and when my feet are curled up
when your absent fingers 
trace my spine
and lips that i miss
kiss my neck
i know,
why this is how it must be

the moon
isn't it?

it is because of the moon
it needs to feel full
and complete
and beautiful too
some nights
it must
and you are the one
who the moon needs

aren't you?

you're the one
holding its hand
coaxing it 
with your honey words
and soothing touch
and silken eyelashes
coaxing it
to not be shy
and shine
to come out of the shadows
and show its
wholesome form

it's you 
isn't it?

i know now, why you need to go 
i do

i know, sometimes, why this needs to be done
sometimes, i think i know,
why you need to go

but only

about the other times
i can't reason
or make peace
with my mind
it isn't that i can't
find answers
if i really wanted to find

i choose not to

why should i?
i ask
why should i?

the sun and the moon
i know they need you
and i know you must do
what you have to

but even then
the sun and the moon
can never 
want you
need you
miss you

the way i do

so i say this
my solemn promise
sometimes, i'll understand
why you need to go

but only sometimes

Friday, November 9, 2012


what feeling, baby

she asks
in her bed sheet
her torso

that feeling 

which makes me want to melt all over you
spread all over you
like a liquid
where i glide over your skin
every curl
every curve
like if i miss out even a single spot 
it wouldn't do
like it has to be complete
like it  has to cover the skin between your toes
like it has to enshroud every hair on your head
like it has to blanket your hips
and covert your breasts
like it has to glaze your legs
and wrap your arms
like it needs to pour down your mouth
         trickle down your chin and neck
like it has to glide against the walls of your throat
like it has to build a nest in your stomach
like it has to be there 
like effervescence in your breathe
like it has to match the scent of your wetness
like it has to taste like your saliva
like it has to become 
the warmth of your body
and the thump in your chest

that feeling

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

fractured weave

i only keep my hand
longer on your face
across your neck
on the small of your back

in hope

that my hands remember this

this feeling
for i have tried before
running my fingers and hand
across my face, closing my eyes

it is your hand, your fingers
it never feels the same

how does my very own hand
and my very own fingers
betray me so

my very own extensions
mocking my inadequacy

what does your hand have
what do your fingers do 
that is so special
what you hold

what you hold
is a spell
written in lead
i want to be that pencil
that you hold
in your hand

your fingers wrapped around me
with a purpose
leading me
me a pencil

and your fingers, together taut
in a slow tango
across the ballroom of lined paper
or even blank
how does that matter
it does not
not one bit
all that matters
is that we dance
we dance and not stop
right now

right now
i want to rip my clothes off
rip them off
and get on the floor
on my four

arch my back
and stretch my neck
and raise my face

facing you
my moon
my very own special moon
the rising of you
raising an animal
inside me

like a beast
not harmful or vicious
one just led by his instincts
his instincts ruled over
by your scent
the scent of the moon
the scent of the moon
i raise my head and howl

i howl
begging you
to fill me up
with your scent

these moonbeams
are paths made by your scent
teasing me
telling me
to follow them
that they would lead me to you

so i follow
i howl and i follow

you are up there
aren't you

looking down
from your celestial box
looking at this man beast
less a man more a beast
every passing minute
not one that is vicious
or malicious

just following
your scent
the scent of the moon


make this night stay
make this night stay
don't let it go
make sure it does not leave

let me hold your hand
as you extend your arm
to clasp the night 

in your palm

the colour 
of the night
dark blue
a sprinkle of

colours of the night
your hands

squeeze the night
squeeze it harder
till your knuckles

constrict the night
till its colours ooze

smother it
till the night has 
beads of sweat
on its forehead
upper lip
tip of the nose

smother it
it has no choice but
to open its mouth 
to breathe
and raise its hips 
to meet the thick
oxygen halo
right above

make it 
its drying lips
make them 
so that we can feed it
forcibly, if needed
pills of ecstasy 

the night
this sweetly thick 
musky night
take away it colours

wrench it hard
till its colours

a saturated sponge
this night
needs to be relieved
of its dark dark dark beauty

makes those colours
run up your wrist
your forearm
your underarm
your collarbone
your neck
your face
your eyes

i will catch them
when they reach your lips
and drink the colours
along with you

as we sit
alongside ourselves
watching us
sipping on the night
from our
primitive cups

we shall watch
the colours of the night
enter you
running down your throat
to your satin stomach
to the inside of your thighs

we'll let the night
and its colours
that they both 
can escape

just when they think
they really can

we'll trap the colours
of the night
between our hips

and take these liquidly colours 
and grind them
to a fine fine powder

and smear it all over our bodies
covering every inch
of our skin

our mouths full
our nostrils flaring
the pores on our skin
inhaling the night
and its colours
dark blue
a sprinkle of